Get Smart 9 - Max Smart and the Ghastly Ghost Affair

by William Johnston

  “But, Max, we saw the cellar. And we saw the Coolidge-head penny. At least, you said we saw them.”

  “We did see the penny, 99,” Max nodded. “But I was mistaken about the cellar, I think. I think what we really saw was the lost gold mine.”

  “Max, I don’t understand.”

  “99, where is a mine?”

  “Where is-a yours? Max, I don’t even-a know-a where-a mine is, let-a alone-a yours.”

  “You’re very good on dialect, 99. But what I meant was, where are mines usually located?”

  “Oh. Underground, Max.”

  “Right. So, what was it we saw when we looked down that crack in the floor? We saw the mine tunnel. That explains why we couldn’t find the secret panel that led to the secret passageway that led to the wine cellar. No secret panel, no secret passageway, and no wine cellar. Only a mine tunnel. And that’s where the Coolidge-head penny is.”

  “Then we ought to be searching the mine!”

  “Right again, 99.”

  “Of course!” 99 said. “Why didn’t we think of that before!”

  “I don’t know about you, 99,” Max replied, leading the way from the bank, “but the reason I didn’t think of it was because Arbuthnot hadn’t got around to giving his farewell speech yet.”

  9.

  MAX AND 99 started up the dusty street toward the mine. But after they had gone a few steps, Max halted. “We’re making the same mistake we made last time,” he said to 99, pointing to the tracks they were leaving in the dust. “When Arbuthnot and those other assassins came out of the saloon, they’ll see our tracks and follow us up to the mine.”

  “I don’t see how we can help but leave tracks, Max,” 99 said. “There’s dust all around.”

  “Only on the ground,” Max said. “Not inside the buildings, and not on the roofs.”

  “Well . . . I suppose not, but—”

  “Just follow me,” Max said.

  With 99 right behind him, Max entered the bakery. He ducked down and crawled into the old open fireplace, then, with excruciating slowness, he made his way up to the inside of the chimney. When he reached the roof he reached down and gave 99 a hand, helping her out.

  “Max . . .” she panted, “I never thought I’d make it. Is this really necessary?”

  “This is only the beginning, 99.”

  Max crossed to the edge of the roof. The roof of the next building, the jail, was several yards away. He retreated, then got a running start and leaped off the bakery roof and—with the tips of his fingers—caught hold of the drain pipe alone the edge of the jail roof. Summoning all his strength, Max pulled himself up, finally reaching the roof over the jail.

  “Jump, 99!” he called.

  “Max, I’ll never make it!”

  “It’s the only way! Jump!”

  99 backed away, then ran toward the edge of the bakery roof and jumped. She missed the edge of the jail roof—and the hands Max was holding out to her—by at least a foot, and plummeted to the ground, landing, fortunately, in a soft pile of dust.

  “Oh, Max . . . I’m sorry . . .” 99 called up.

  “You’re forgiven, 99. Now, back into the bakery, and back up the chimney, and try it again. If at first you don’t succeed, try—”

  “Max, are you going into the jail?”

  “No, 99. I’m going to cross to the roof of the lumber yard, then, by plank, make my way to the barber shop. Having retained the plank, I will then proceed to the roof of the bakery, reaching it by climbing handover-hand up the treacherous incline formed by extending the plank from the lower window of the barber shop to the upper gutter of the bakery roof. From the roof, I will drop down the chimney.”

  “Max, as long as I know where you’re going, I’ll just meet you outside the bakery.”

  “All right, 99.”

  Max disappeared from the edge of the roof. When he was gone, 99 walked around to the front of the bakery and sat down on the front steps. She heard a great deal of grunting and straining during the next few minutes. Then Max appeared from the bakery. His clothes were ripped in a number of places.

  “That takes care of that problem,” he said. “Arbuthnot and his assassins might, in time, be able to follow that trail. But a lot of them will probably lose their lives doing it. And, by the time they catch up with us, we’ll have found the Coolidge-head penny and alerted the Chief.”

  “That’s nice, Max,” 99 said, managing to control her admiration.

  “Now, 99—to the mine.”

  “Fine, Max.”

  They left the bakery and proceeded up the dusty street, leaving a full set of tracks behind. When they reached the entrance to the mine, they stopped and peered, squinting, into the darkness.

  “Do you still have your lighter, Max?” 99 said. “We’ll sure need it. I just wonder how long it will keep burning, though. I wouldn’t want to get lost in there without a light.”

  “99, there’s no problem. Even without a light we’d be able to find our way out. Tunnels only go two ways—out and in. If we came to the end of the tunnel and discovered that we weren’t outside, we’d know we were going the wrong way. So, we’d turn around and go the other way, which would take us out.”

  “Suppose the tunnel has branches, Max?”

  “We’ll stay out of the branches. This is no time to go out on a limb.” Max reached into his pocket to get the lighter. “I don’t seem to have it,” he said. “Did I give the lighter to you, 99?”

  “I don’t think so, Max.”

  “We’ll just have to go on without it,” he decided. “We don’t really need it. We’ll see the Coolidge-head penny when we reach it. Remember?—it was gleaming in the light through the crack in the floor.”

  “But, Max—”

  “It’s just as well that I can’t find the lighter, 99,” Max said. “If I lit it the flame would cast flickering shadows on the walls. And when a flame casts a flickering shadow on the walls that means that danger is lurking somewhere nearby. It’s a warning the Good Guys always get.”

  “Max . . . you don’t really believe that, do you?”

  “Why wouldn’t I believe it, 99? It never fails to happen. When a candle or a lighter is lighted in a dark place like a cave or a tunnel, the flame always flickers. And then, a short while later, the danger always comes out of lurking and confronts the Good Guys.”

  “But, Max, that’s the wind blowing the flame!”

  “If you want to think it’s the wind, 99, that’s your privilege.”

  “What is it, then?”

  “It’s the sacred god of Good Guydom.”

  “Oh, Max, you can’t—”

  There was a sudden sound, like a puff of air, and the old prospector suddenly appeared. He was carrying his lantern and blocking the way. Beside him was his mule, Madame DuBarry.

  “Well . . . speak of the god of Good Guydom . . .” Max said.

  “None of your soft soap!” the old prospector growled. “I caught you red-handed this time!”

  Max looked at his hands. “That’s not my normal color,” he said. “They’re getting the reflection from your lantern.”

  “None of your squirmy way with words, either! You know what I’m talking about!” the old prospector charged. “You’re after my gold! You had me fooled at first with that story about the Pinkertons. But now I’ve got the goods on you. If you’re not after my gold, what are you doing back in the tunnel?”

  “It’s sort of a long story,” Max said. “After you disappeared and left us stranded on that mountain, we made our way down to the town, and, at the break of dawn, found ourselves confronted—”

  “Don’t go into all that detail,” the old prospector said. “I disappeared, all right, but that don’t mean I haven’t kept track of you. I been on your trail every minute of the time—almost. I had my suspicions, so I followed you—staying about a dozen yards behind. I saw you get yourself trapped in that jail. I saw you get shut up in that vault in the bank. The only place I didn’t tail you
was when you jumped over from the roof of the bakery to the roof of the jail.”

  “Oh? Chicken?”

  “Well, I saw your wife take that fall. So, I said to myself— Well, never mind what I said. What it adds up to is, yeah, I was chicken. I went along with her and waited on the porch.”

  “I see. Well, if you’ve been with us all the time, then you must know why we’re here,” Max said. “Didn’t you hear us say why we were returning to the tunnel?”

  “From a dozen yards behind?” the old prospector replied. “I didn’t have ears like that even when I was young.”

  “Oh. Well, if you’d been a little closer,” Max said, “you’d have heard us say—very clearly—that we were coming back here to look for the Coolidge-head penny. You see, our idea that the penny dropped through the floor and into the wine cellar was wrong. Because there is no wine cellar below the saloon. What there is, instead, is a tunnel. A mine tunnel. This mine tunnel. And that’s why we’re here now. To find the Coolidge-head penny, not to look for your gold. I hope that clears up any misunderstanding that may have arisen. Are you satisfied?”

  “Almost,” the old prospector replied. “I will be as soon as I take care of you two so you can’t get at my gold.”

  “Apparently I’m going to have to start at the beginning again,” Max said wearily. “It all started, you see, in Washington. Now, 99 and I—”

  “Max, we don’t have time for that!” 99 said. “If Arbuthnot was giving a farewell speech, he and the other assassins will be leaving soon.”

  “You’re right, 99,” Max replied. He addressed the old prospector again. “I’ll explain it afterwards,” he said. “But, right now—” He pointed. “See that lantern hanging on the wall,” he said. “I’m going to take it and light it and then follow this tunnel until I find the Coolidge-head penny. I promise that if I find any gold—”

  “Don’t do that,” the old prospector warned.

  “Max, you can’t do it, anyway,” 99 said. “You lost the lighter.”

  “I just found it again a second ago, 99,” he replied. “It was in my other pocket all the time.”

  “Then, quick, Max, let’s hurry.”

  “Sorry old man,” Max said to the old prospector, getting the lighter from his pocket.

  “It’s not me that’ll be sorry,” the old prospector said. “It’s you that’ll be—”

  Max, having taken the lantern from the wall, ignited the lighter. There was a resounding explosion. It was followed by the sound of falling rocks.

  “—sorry,” the old prospector finished.

  Max and 99 stared at the entrance to the tunnel, which was now blocked by huge stones.

  “That exactly the way it happened to me,” the old prospector told them. “I come in here with a lantern and when I started to light it I got this big boom. Then all them rocks come crashing down and clogged up the doorway.”

  “Max!” 99 cried. “We’re trapped.”

  “My guess is there’s a gas leak in here somewhere,” the old prospector speculated.

  “Just a minute,” Max said. “We still have light. Why is it that your lantern doesn’t cause an explosion?”

  “ ’Cause it’s not real,” the old man replied. “What would a ghost prospector be doing with a real lantern? Don’t you know a ghost lantern when you see one?”

  “He’s right, Max,” 99 said.

  “All right, he’s right,” Max said. “But, don’t panic, 99. All we have to do is find the Coolidge-head penny and signal to the Chief. Then he’ll send a squad of Control agents to capture the assassins, and after they’ve finished that they can free us.”

  “Ha!” the old prospector said.

  “What exactly does that mean?” Max asked.

  “It means it looks like it won’t be long before I’m not the only human ghost in this here lost gold mine,” the old prospector replied, grinning. “And, let me tell you, it’ll be nice having you young folks around. Madame DuBarry is a good mule, but, no matter how you look at it, he’s not human. I crave the company of human people. Oh, Madame DuBarry can be a good talker—if you can hit on a subject that interests him. But, after you’ve discussed the various aspects of straw a couple or six times, it’s hard to find anything new to say about it. I’m truly looking forward to the chats I’ll have with you two after you get to be ghosts. Why . . . we’ll recollect old times. I can tell you how it was back in the days when a man was a man and a woman was glad of it. And you can tell me how things was yesterday and the day before. Yessirree! We’ll have many a good argyments, too. I remember the night I took on Hotfoot Luke in the bar of the saloon on the subject: Will the Iron Horse Ever Replace the Twenty Mule Team as the Primary Means of Trans-Continental Transportation. It was a debate like you’ve never heard the likes of before or since. Hotfoot Luke took the Affirmative. And I took both the Negative and the Maybe. I proved beyond a doubt that the Iron Horse was a rich man’s toy and it’d never get off the ground. When I finished my summin’ up, the roar of the crowd was deafening.”

  “Yes, well, as it happened, you were wrong, though,” Max said. “The Iron Horse is still with us today, and it’s still a very important part of the transportation system.”

  “Pshaw!” the old prospector said. “Where’d you ever get an idea like that? It didn’t last a week. Like I said in the debate, it was a rich man’s toy.”

  “It just so happens,” Max replied, “that there are trains—”

  “Trains? Who said anything about trains? I’m talking about the Iron Horse. It was invented by Abe Shuster, a rich fella here in town—before the town kind of petered out, that is. He had this idea for a machine that looked just like a horse. He got the local ironsmith to build it for him. Had an iron tail and iron ears. While he was at it, the ironsmith made up a whole bushel of iron corn for this iron horse to eat. But, I told them at the time, ‘It’ll never be anything but Abe Shuster’s toy,’ I said. And I was right. A couple days after the big debate—which I won hands down—that iron horse run off with the iron deer that Mabel Wamsutter had on her front lawn. Neither one was ever heard from or seen again.”

  “Well, that’s very sad, but—”

  “Sadder than that even,” the old prospector said. “It was due to that—the coincident of his iron horse running off with her iron deer—that caused Abe Shuster to first take notice of Mabel Wamsutter, although they’d been living side by side—him in the big white house on the hill, and her in the little hovel in the valley—for nigh onto a good long while. The tragedy that resulted shook the whole town to its very roots. I recall—”

  “Max,” 99 said, “if we’re going to find that Coolidge-head penny—”

  “Just a second, 99. I want to find out what happened to Abe and Mabel.”

  “Max!”

  “You’re right, 99. Duty first,” Max said.

  “Sure, that’s right, you go on ahead and waste your time looking for that penny,” the old prospector said. “We’ll talk about Abe and Mabel later. We’ll have plenty of time after you’re bona fide ghosts. Centuries and centuries and centuries. Maybe even a whole decade.”

  “Fine,” Max nodded. “Now, if you’ll just excuse us . . .”

  “Sure.”

  Max and 99 started off into the dimness.

  “Just yell when you get hopelessly lost in one or more of them branch tunnels,” the old prospector called after them.

  Max and 99 returned.

  “Branch tunnels?” Max said.

  “Yup. Go on ahead if you want to go out on a limb and take a chance on getting lost in one of them branch tunnels,” the old prospector said. “There’re hundreds of them. More than that even. I counted up to a hundred, then I stopped counting. When you two get to be ghosts along with me and Madame DuBarry, maybe we’ll take that up as a hobby—counting all them branch tunnels. Time hangs a little heavy on your hands when you’re a ghost and you’re haunting a long lost gold mine. I’ll tell you the truth, you don’t get much traffic
through a long lost gold mine. A couple of Dairy Queen fellas stopped by here one day about a dozen years ago to survey the place and see if it’d pay to put up a stand. Well, they stood here and counted, both pedestrian passersby and mule teams, and after they’d counted up to zero they quit. That’s how busy the place is.”

  “Why are there hundreds of branches?” Max asked.

  “That long lost gold has been lost for a long time,” the old man answered. “And every new prospector that looked for it struck out in a different direction. The old prospectors have an old saying. It goes: Never trust an old prospector. So, every time some new old prospector would come along to look for the long lost gold, he’d dig the opposite way the last old old prospector’d dug. And, after a time—”

  “I think I get the idea,” Max broke in. “Look, I wonder if we could make a deal with you? It seems that in order to avoid getting lost we’ll need a light. It seems, further, that you are in possession at the moment of the only reliable means of illumination. Are you following me?”

  “Into that dark? Not me. I’m going to stay back here with the lantern—even if it isn’t real.”

  “What I was getting at is, I wonder if we could borrow your lantern?”

  “You don’t know any more about ghosts than you do about iron horses,” the old prospector replied. “How can I loan you the borrow of my lantern if it isn’t real? Oh, I could loan you the borrow of it, but how would you carry it? Wait a few days, though. Then, you’ll be a ghost, too, and you won’t have any trouble at all carrying it.”

  “By then, I won’t need it,” Max said.

  “Could you do this?” 99 said to the old prospector. “Could you guide us? We can see fine as long as you’re around with the lantern.”

  “Guide you?” the old prospector said. “I’d be a fool to do that. Why should I guide you to that long lost gold when I can’t even find it myself? I might be dumb enough to strike a light around a gas leak, but I’m not so dumb as to guide a couple of complete strangers to a place I don’t even know where it is myself. Try me again in a couple days—after we know each other a little better.”